love is patient, love is kind
by tsuguhas
Summary: and i'd give up forever to touch you; — natan week 2017
1. slow down my heartbeat

**prompt:** happiness

 **summary:** his hands are larger than her fears, and that's the last thought she has as he lulls her back to sleep. — natan ;

 **word count:** 410

* * *

 **natalie** wakes with a sharp gasp, hands clutching at the sheets.

her bedroom is dark, the curtains closed.

the same nightmare has plagued her for days on end now.

she rolls over, patting the empty spot next to her. _where is lucifer? luce? "_ luce?" she asks.

natalie climbs out of bed, trying to avoid crying as she steps into the significantly cooler hallway.

water is running in the kitchen, and something sweet - smelling fills the air. then she hears " _shit, damn. damn. ow."_

a laugh bubbles up into her chest, but she represses it.

her husband is wearing a black t - shirt that is currently covered in excess flour and there's chocolate on his nose and cheek. his hair is mussed and he's gnawing on his bottom lip. there's soft music playing in the background. (probably jack johnson. she's discovered that his taste in music is actually quite low - key.)

she glances at the wall clock hanging above his head.

it's two o'clock in the morning. well. she squints. more like twenty after, but same thing.

she steps forward onto the cold tile floor, trying to stay quiet. lucifer is so focused on measuring something (" _damn. wrong.")_ that he doesn't take even the slightest notice of her. she creeps up behind him, pressing her chest against the broad expanse of his back and snaking her pale arms around his midriff. he stiffens for a brief moment before relaxing into her grip and continuing to measure things.

she rests her ear underneath his shoulder blade; the steady rhythm of his heartbeat slowing the world down for a solitary moment.

she finds herself singing quietly to jack johnson (" _who broke the moonlight / watch it wax and wane / I'm lost / I'm too tired to try")_ as luce cracks an egg.

at approximately four o'clock in the morning, they sit at the kitchen island; he with two cookies and natalie with double that.

and she realizes, as he strokes her hand while simultaneously wolfing down a chocolate chip cookie, that she loves her husband.

he smiles at her goofily, his chocolate - covered lips basically _begging_ to be kissed.

* * *

 **additional notes:** this is literally the softest thing ive ever written im cry! anyways happy natan week !


	2. courage is found in everything

**prompt:** courage  
 **summary:** courage is a challenge. — natan;  
 **warnings:** some mild (?) physical interaction, but nothing too nsfw  
 **word count:** 736

* * *

 **his** fingers splay out across her back, wrinkling the fabric of her thin shirt.

"you're sure no one is home?" he asks. her palms settle at his hips as she rests her forehead against the curve of his neck.

"i promise," comes her answer. he sighs contentedly. time alone with natalie is a rare kind, and he takes what little bit he can get. he draws her closer, close enough that she is almost straddling him. his touch grazes her midriff and her back arches.

"natalie," he whispers; working his mouth up her neck. her violent shivers only encourage him. he smirks into her soft skin as her eyes flutter closed.

she is — frustrated, she wants to draw him nearer than she physically can. his proximity curates a sense of unyielding hunger inside of her belly and it _aches._

his lips hover over hers and she tightens her grip on his hips —

"what the _hell?"_

natalie breaks away from luce, her shirt rucked halfway up her torso. luce lifts his head to lock eyes with none other than maximilian mcallister.

she gulps.

* * *

"so you're telling me, you've been dating for how long?" max says slowly as natalie tugs nervously on her shirt hem.

"i mean, a couple of months … like, maybe ten?" she grimaces. luce sits beside her, hands folded in his lap as he watches silently.

he grits his teeth. "i can't believe this. i can't believe this! he looks like a drug dealer, nat! and you managed to hide this for so long — !"

she rubs the back of her neck sheepishly. "yeah, i've been pushing him to stop wearing his hair slicked back. it looks creepy."

luce stirs in protest. he says nothing, though, mostly cause nat will whack him if he does.

"you think?" max mutters.

"look, you might not like him, but i promise he's a good guy," she says quietly. "he always asks me how i'm doing, he's surprisingly good with kids and elders, and he's very gentle with cats... he's healthy. he's good to be around."

(his heart skips a beat. this girl is precious.)

max eyes her momentarily, before his gaze moves onto luce. then he sighs in defeat.

"listen, natalie is my sister. so naturally i'm going to be a decent human being and make sure you're not an ass. but i also trust the both of you to make sure that you're comfortable in your relationship and it's healthy. natalie's going to be nineteen soon. she's not an idiot, nor is she a child," he says. "it's silly of me to be like this. i guess it just surprised me, you know? hard to picture you all grown up, with your own life."

he isn't looking at natalie, and even though he clearly intends the statement to be interpreted in a general sense; it's not what he's conveying.

she softens, placing a hand on his kneecap.

"just because i'm getting older doesn't invalidate your significance to me. you're still my brother, you still mean the world to me."

max raises his shoulders and nods. "i know."

they all sit quietly for a few moments before natalie claps her hands and announces that they'll be ordering pizza.

(pineapple, to be exact, because natalie understands what is Good and Right with the world.)

* * *

luce wonders briefly that evening if meeting him was a sort of (for lack of a better word) catharsis for max. perhaps this was max's way of convincing himself that natalie was, in fact, no longer an infant that needed care. after all, since carla's death (and their father's subsequent alcoholism), the only one natalie could truly rely on was .. well, max. part of luce feels a wedge of guilt worm his way into his heart — he is coming between a special bond that he was never privy to as a child.

then he shakes his head at himself.

natalie nudges him. "whatcha thinking about over there, huh?"

he starts, eyes rounding. "nothing. is there more pizza?" she nods and gesticulates towards the kitchen with a mouthful of pineapple.

 _maybe max was in the process of exercising a weird kind of — what? courage?_

he seats himself once again besides nat on the couch, kissing her temple before biting into a breadstick.

he loves her, that's for damn sure. if nothing else, he loves her.

* * *

 **additional notes;** fhosirhfiohf i just really wanted to write about max that's all. and some kissy natan. bye


	3. whilst acknowledging his sin

**prompt:** punishment

 **summary:** (there's a quiet moment where all he can hear is her breathing, her pulse — and his heart hurts.) — natan;

 **warnings:** angsty boi

 **word count:** 619 i think?

* * *

 **"to burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves."**  
― Federico García Lorca, _Blood Wedding and Yerma_

* * *

 **it** happened to be a very cold saturday, plagued by chilling rains and whistling winds.

natalie was curled up on the loveseat across the room, a cup of honey lemon ginger tea wrapped between her palms. her gaze was unfocused.

"natalie," a voice said from the couch adjacent. "if you're tired, go to bed." she blinked sleepily and rubbed an eye with a balled - up fist.

* * *

she turned to face luce, wrapped in his own blanket with a novel in his hands. he was a different luce today, clad in a cream - coloured sweater and jeans. his hair wasn't slicked back like usual; instead hanging down loosely, some strands tucked behind his ears.

natalie liked this luce. she like him a lot. (if she was being honest, she felt like this luce was a much more accurate representation of what his personality on the inside was actually like — a bit nerdy, quiet, etc.)

she merely watched him for a moment, until he felt her eyes on him and he lifted his head once again.

this time, he said nothing; only matching the intensity of her own countenance.

finally she looked away, back to the television. he grinned behind the cover of his book.

about fifteen minutes later, he lifted his head one more time to regard her sleeping form. her head was laid across the arm of the loveseat, that ridiculous strawberry - golden hair spilling underneath it. the weirdly bio - luminescent green eyes that are always following him are closed; her dusty lashes brushing the tops of her cheekbones.

she stirred for a moment, muttered something ( — _radishes are a government experiment — )_ (?) and then settled again.

his pulse jacked up a few notches higher, and immediately he felt his cheeks follow suit as they turned an unholy (no pun intended) vermillion shade.

he covers his mouth with his palm before swallowing.

because the wave of unintended pleasure that had flooded his body had almost instantaneously been erased by the subsequent guilt.

he wanted to move closer. to pull her head into his lap and stroke it, to card his fingers through her hair. to kiss her cheek and carry her to bed and wake up next to her sleeping face, to —

he bowed his head, tensed his jaw.

but he can't. oh, he can't. because he knows he doesn't deserve it.

 _it's not like anyone else deserves her either, but look who she's with! you!_ the selfish inner voice of his bellows ferociously, thunderously. _she's practically yours for the taking!_

but she is the Saint of Something He Isn't. and he is the peasant has nothing to offer her.

he is in love with the one woman he cannot have.

and then he feels his entire being ripping, tearing into miniscule pieces.

this — forget everything else that he's been forced to suffer through. Hell's voices, the loss of his family, the curse of being so immensely _hated_ by everyone — this encompasses everything.

he never thought it would hurt so hard to fall in love and know that he was forever stuck.

but now here he was. _stuck._ so damned —

he tore a hand through his own hair, anger and dissatisfaction and thousands of other roiling emotions roaring through his veins.

but he keeps breathing. and tomorrow, when he wakes up, she will still be there, and he will still love her.

luce supposed that was his punishment.

* * *

 **additional notes:**... i have nothing to say for myself _bye_


End file.
